Sway
by Coralfly
Summary: After two years in military school, Tristan's back in Hartford for one last summer before college. [Complete]
1. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

He was back for the summer. Back to a world of lunches with the parentals and their associates; of tennis and golf and all other sporting activities that children like him were brought up on; of endless dinner parties full of non-stop parading by peacocks showing off their feathers. He was back in Hartford, in a world that had often seemed larger than life but now, at eighteen years of age, suddenly seemed diminished and smaller. The houses were not as big as he had remembered them. The streets filled with BMWs, Mercedes and Porsches that lined the driveways like the tall, stately oaks by the pavement had a sameness about them though he was sure there were differences. Hartford had changed but then so had Tristan DuGrey.

Two years ago he had left Hartford (and Chilton) in disgrace only now to return in superficial glory. His father had preached to friends and acquaintances that military school was the true future for the American education system, as if he had sent Tristan there voluntarily and not because of unmentionable circumstances. 

"They teach children about the real world. Not some glorified version. Boys turn into men there. They learn about determination, ambition, the American tradition and the principles that this great country is founded upon. Tristan has learnt discipline and he's prepared for anything life will throw at him. He's independent and self-reliant. Not to mention that he finished top of his class. He had Yale, Princeton, Stanford and the likes vying for his admittance but of course he's going to Harvard. It is after all family tradition."

Gestures were important to speeches as Mr. DuGrey had learnt years ago, and so with practiced art he would slap his son on the back as a show of pride and affection; the kind of physical intimacy that would have been expected between a father and a son. As dictated by his role, a role that Tristan had perfected at the age of five, he clasped the right of his father's arm - always the right - and twisted his mouth upwards in what might have been called a smile though it lacked any real emotion. Five seconds later he would step back, the performance over, and would wait patiently for the round of applause from the audience. They always received one. He and his father were great actors in their own special way. 

It was without effort that Tristan found his way back into his old circle of friends; he was a king returned from his sojourn in far away, exotic places. They did not see him. They only saw the perfect golden boy with good looks, good grades, money, and blood bluer than the sea or the sky. If his disgraced departure from Chilton registered in their shallow minds it was only to add spice, adventure and a hint of delicious (but acceptable) rebellion to his personality. Besides, he was charming, intelligent and more good-looking than ever with his perfectly built frame and accentuated muscles that he had gotten from the daily drills at military school. Tristan DuGrey was a man's man and a woman's man rolled into one. Essentially, while he was everything they dreamed of, they were everything that he did not dream of. He wanted more. He craved more. 

"More, sir?"

Tristan blinked and tried to find his bearings, "Eh…"

"The waiter asked you if you wanted more," Madeline, a childhood acquaintance, helpfully supplied. She was a sweet brunette who in all her life had been a follower and was destined to become a trophy wife, though certainly not Tristan's, no matter how much she might have wished it.

He stared at the offerings on the silver platter and carefully selected one of the canapés, a miniature piece of toasted bread topped with a thin slice of salmon and a dollop of cream cheese. "This is a nice party you have here, Madeline."

"It is lovely, isn't it?" Louise interceded, "But let's not talk about such things. I want to hear more about you." She slipped her arm possessively around Tristan's and led him away. There was no real polite way of excusing himself so he allowed himself to be directed away from Madeline and the other partygoers to a more secluded spot. 

As Louise chattered, more about herself than about him, Tristan began to reflect on how some things hadn't changed. She was still as vapid as ever, the blonde who hid her sly intelligence behind a carefully decorated exterior. Tristan spent the first few minutes watching in fascination as Louise's lips moved; a flurried motion of twists and turns lending a permanent sneer to almost everything she said. For a while he was content to observe her mouth's strange patterns as she uttered soundless gibberish but he soon grew bored of that. To prevent his eyes from glazing over he scanned the room. 

By the refreshment table were Kenneth and William, rehashing all their conquests – real and imaginary. There were a group of girls giggling and tittering as they headed to the bathroom and amongst them he noted a few ex-girlfriends. Across the room Simon Denning was making life difficult for one of the waiters; Tristan rolled his eyes and mouthed the words 'inferiority complex'. Near the entrance he spotted Madeline and Paris greeting a latecomer, a willowy brunette with an air of elegance and refinement that girls like Louise strove to imitate. The latecomer was the type of girl Tristan could see his parents approving of; her whole demeanor giving away her 'old rich' roots. Yet the jut of her chin hinted at determination and the absolute straightness of her back and the tiny fluid gestures she made with her hands revealed an intelligent, serious person.

"Rory Gilmore."

His head snapped back to Louise, her words finally gaining his attention. "What did you say?"

"It looks like Rory Gilmore has arrived. You do remember Rory, don't you?"

__

Rory Gilmore. Could I forget? Tristan wondered to himself though he answered Louise in a less revealing way, "I think I vaguely remember her." His eyes, however, were fixated on Rory. He watched as she tilted her head to the left and her coffee-brown hair fell to the side in a smooth and fluid motion straight out of a shampoo commercial. Her porcelain pale skin was tinged with a faint blush of pink complementing the rose colored dress she wore. He found himself waxing poetic over her appearance. _Pathetic. A mere few minutes in her presence and you're reduced to the smitten Sophomore of the past. Two years and her smile still gives you butterflies. You don't need this, DuGrey. You're over it._

"I didn't think you would," came Louise's triumphant reply, "After all it's not as if she's memorable or anything. Not the type of person you would recall, Tristan."

Something in her voice made Tristan pause. There was a slight edge to her words although whether it was due to animosity towards the object of their discussion or a snide comment directed at Tristan and his past entanglements with Rory he did not know. Perhaps it was a little of both. Nevertheless it was a sharp reminder that Rory Gilmore was beyond him, had always been beyond him.

As his eyes absorbed the older Rory Gilmore, Tristan relived the stupidity he had laid himself open to in his numerous efforts to gain her attention. He could remember each encounter all too clearly; the humiliation, the desperation, the cocky bravado he had erected as a defense to Rory's obvious disinterest. Moreover he doubted that his foolish antics were completely erased from Louise's memory or anyone from Chilton who had borne witness to them. It was a rare female who made Tristan DuGrey jump through proverbial hoops and in a world of designer Barbie dolls, Rory Gilmore was virtually an extinct species.

They stood in their corner staring at her until finally he could bear it no more. "If you excuse me, Louise, I have to go. A prior engagement, you understand."

"Oh. Well I will see you around won't I, Tristan? You do have my number?"  


"I'll call," came Tristan's empty promise as he quickly departed from her company. As he made his way to the door, he was stopped every now and then by familiar faces. Even as he said his farewells, made his excuses and promised to meet up, he was ever mindful of Rory's presence. His eyes traced her movements: from the entrance to the refreshment table, refreshment table to the bathroom, bathroom to the center of the room, center of the room to three feet away from him.

"It's a pity you have to leave so soon, Tristan. There's a party at Rick's, next Friday, though. You'll have to come. You will come won't you?"

"Hmm, no…"

"Ah, c'mon DuGrey. There's this blonde you have to meet."

He blinked, disorientated, and sucked some air into his lungs, "I'm sorry John. Of course, I'm coming."

"Good, good. Wait until you see the blonde…."

It was at that moment when their eyes locked and he was held captive by the intensity of Rory's blue eyes. A flicker of recognition crossed her face and shiver of elation danced through his body. She remembered him.

Slowly, slowly he exhaled a steady stream of air, trying desperately to calm himself. His lips twitched to an involuntarily smile instead of 'hello'. She returned his smile with a contemplative frown and Tristan stepped back as if Rory had physically struck out at him. His smile faltered and then completely disappeared though he could not tear his eyes away from her. Every now and then he nodded and made a 'hmming', 'ahhing' sound to give John the illusion that he was upholding his end of the conversation. Rory seemed less fascinated by Tristan though every now and then she snuck a few looks in his direction. It was no consolation for him because the frown was still a permanent fixture on her face.

Finally after five minutes of covert glances on Rory's side and blatant staring on Tristan's, she excused herself from the company she was currently keeping and made a move towards him. As Rory closed the gap between them, step by step, a bolt of inspiration struck Tristan. He knew what he had to do.

"I have to go."

"Now?" asked John in dismay.

"Yes. Now." Tristan confirmed. "I didn't realize how late it was. I really have to go."

"Well don't forget about next Friday!"

"Next Friday?"

"The party, remember?"

"Ah, yes, the party!" he snapped his fingers and nodded, "I'll definitely be there, man." One look Rory's way and Tristan realized that she was almost upon him; he had dallied for far too long. "See ya." He rushed to the door and a backward glance showed Rory standing next to John, an inscrutable look on her face. 

Their eyes locked again and for a few seconds Tristan was frozen in motion. She seemed to be staring at the heart of him, burning holes through his soul. He stopped breathing. Another involuntarily smile began to form but this time Tristan felt it creeping up and quickly turned away. He willed his legs to move and it was only when he reached his car that Tristan began to function normally again.

Gripping the steering wheel he breathed; in and out, in and out; body heaving with the effort. _Chicken shit. Is that what they taught you at military school, DuGrey? To run at the sight of a girl? _A few more deep breaths and Tristan was once again sophisticated, composed, and infallible. Still he did not return to Madeline's party but inserted the key into the ignition and started the engine. The car roared as he drove away, a sound to drown out his inner thoughts.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from _Gilmore Girls_. They are the property of the WB and Amy Sherman-Palladino. (This disclaimer should also apply to Chapter One)

Author's Note: Thank you for everyone who provided me with feedback. It was really was appreciated.

CHAPTER TWO

Another party. Another night of socializing; another night of smiling until his cheeks ached; another night of wondering if this was the meaning of his life and what he had done in the past to deserve such a privileged existence. He had arrived three hours late, deliberately. He had been here for fifteen minutes and already Tristan was wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Grabbing another cup of beer, he attempted to evade one determined looking red-head whose object for the night was to get her claws into Tristan DuGrey, as if he were a prize to be won. There was a time when he enjoyed all of it. There was a time when he tolerated it. But that time had long since passed and now he only seemed to be going through the motions of what was expected of him. The girls, the parties, they all seemed empty and devoid of sincerity. The red-head continued to advance as he wove through the crowd. Quickly he darted in and out of rooms, through numerous doors until he finally lost the huntress by finding safety in the Madden's library. He shut the door, closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm in love."

His head shot up, his eyes flew open, and his whole body pivoted in the direction of the voice. He was confronted by the sight of a back, straight and poised with a hint of feminine curves. The owner of the back was currently enthralled by the shelves of books. A wave of familiarity washed over Tristan as he quickly racked his mind, and soon placed where he had last seen that distinctive posture. It didn't belong to one of his ex-girlfriends as he had initially feared but to someone much worse. Temporarily he thought about making a run for it, quietly slipping out the door, but too late, she'd already turned and faced him. 

Blue eyes met blue eyes.

A puzzled frown swept over her face. "Tristan. Tristan DuGrey."

"Mary," the word tumbled out of his mouth, his composure shaken at the sight of her.

"Rory. The name is Rory."

"Right." He snapped his fingers together and leaned against the back of the door. Within a few seconds of talking to Rory Gilmore and Tristan had reverted back to the immature schoolboy that she had always brought out of him. Not even the unflappable cool he had refined in military school was enough of a defense against her. "So the sight of me has you falling in love, does it?"

"I was talking about the books, this library. It's amazing." As an afterthought she added, "It's also amazing how two years hasn't seemed to change you one bit."

"Still irresistible as ever?"

"Hardly," Rory scoffed.

"Well, it would appear that two years hasn't changed you that much either," noted Tristan as his eyes slowly and deliberately grazed over the length of her body, "Well, at least personality wise. It seems that books and parties go hand in hand when it comes to you, Mary."

Face flushed and voice laden with disdain, Rory spoke once more, "I guess the Hartford gossip mills were correct." 

"Tut, tut, tut. I never pegged you for the gossipy type," Tristan shook his head in mock disappointment, "Although I am touched that you chose me as your topic for discussion."

"You haven't changed at all." Rory continued, ignoring his comments. "You're still playing the role of the playboy. I thought you'd changed." 

There was a layer of disappointment mingled with her words that made him pause and drop his 'too cool, rich little boy' façade. An awkward silence settled between the two and for a minute or so he stood there gaping at her while she stared, embarrassed, at her shoes. Eventually he opened his mouth to speak but Rory interrupted him, "Forget it. I don't even know why I'm saying this. It's not like we were ever really friends. Well, we were but not really. And it's been two years and it was incredibly rude of me…"

"We were friends."

"What?" Her head shot up and she stared at him, her eyes boring into his hidden depths.

Her scrutiny made him uncomfortable. Vulnerable. He awkwardly changed his position, shifting his feet to one side and then back again, and mumbled un-Tristan like, "We were friends."

"Oh." And then she smiled, a brilliant, genuine smile. "We were friends." 

The smile warmed him, revived his confidence. Tristan straightened his back and gazed directly into her eyes. With an affected, teasing drawl he spoke, "I think we've already covered that."

"Well, I'm still recovering from the shock. I mean you weren't always Mr. Friendly."

"Hey! I was friendly. I was the epitome of friendly."

"Yes, friendly in that unsolicited way that could have you thrown into jail or taken to court." Rory replied dryly.

"It's not like I could help it. I was madly in love with you, suffering the pangs of unrequited love." He clutched his chest, a pained expression on his face.

"You did not! You saw me as an easy conquest."

"Easy? I gotta tell you Rory, there was never anything easy about you."

"You still saw me as some sort of conquest," she pointed out.

"No. I saw you as Rory. Rory Gilmore." With those few words Tristan had let something slip. Something in the tone of his voice. He had revealed more than he had intended, more than he should have. Exposed, Tristan did the only thing he could, he changed the subject. "So what's so impressive about the Madden's library that it made you fall in love?"

"What?"

"The books. The whole 'I'm in love' statement when I first entered," he reminded her. He was still acutely aware of the way her eyes seemed to linger thoughtfully over him, and he silently prayed that she would take the hint and follow his lead. Thankfully she did.

"It's Mr. Madden's collection," Rory gestured for him to come and take a closer look. When he remained rooted in his spot she instinctively grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him closer to the shelf, "It's not just the fact that he has such an extensive range but he has early editions, collectors items. Some of these belong in museums and the rare book collections in libraries. Give me a comfy chair and a never-ending cup of coffee and I'd have died and gone to heaven."

"Well that chair over there looks pretty comfy to me."

She sat down on the appointed chair, her face filled with delight as she relaxed. "Oohh, it is comfy! Now about that coffee…"

"So if I'd conjured up a cup of never-ending coffee you'd be in heaven?"

A look of bliss settled over Rory's face as she closed her eyes and imagined. "Yes."

Tristan's eyes twinkled with mischief and he couldn't help the smirk and his next words, "So being alone here with me is your idea of heaven?"

Her eyes popped opened and she glared at him, and instantly he regretted his words. He had been an idiot, pushed things too far and ruined a perfectly good moment. "I'm sor-"

"You're impossible," she stated but she was smiling. 

He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding and regained his composure. "Actually, I prefer to think of myself as incorrigible. There's a nicer ring, more finesse and as an aspiring journalist you should understand the importance of choosing one's words."

"Impossible," she reiterated, "You're not incorrigible but plain ol' impossible. Not to mention incredibly frustrating."

"So I frustrate you?" Tristan stepped closer to Rory and leaned down to whisper into her left ear, "Well I'm sure together we can easily find some way to ease your frustration." He heard her groan at his line and chuckled in response. "Now Mary, I know you were considering it, even if only for a second."

"Rory. Her name is Rory."

Both turned their heads at the sound of the new voice, and for a second it was as if someone had pressed the 'pause' button on the remote. A second later and Rory had jumped a few feet away from Tristan as the outsider advanced towards them.

"What are you doing here?" came the newcomer's accusation.

"I was invited," Tristan blinked but was unfazed by the confrontation and deliberately kept his tone mild, "What are _you _doing here?"

"I came with Rory. Notice that her name is _Ro-ry_. And shouldn't you be at military school or something?"

Tristan smirked and accepted Dean's challenge. "Do I know you?" He scratched his forehead and pretended to search his memory, although he knew all too well who this person was. "You look vaguely familiar. I know, I know you. Ahh…yes! The stockboy at that nice little market in Stars Hollow. Do you still have that apron of yours? It really was a sensational apron, totally brought out the color of your eyes."

"No," Dean replied through gritted teeth, "I don't still have that apron. And I'm not a stockboy. I'm Rory's boyfriend, remember?"

"De-an." Rory tugged on his sleeve and motioned with her head that she wanted to leave. Dean, however, shook his head in refusal and continued to stare challengingly at Tristan as he waited for his reply.

"So you got promoted? Congratulations!" Tristan held out his hand for Dean to shake and smirked when the other boy refused.

"You're unbelievable. Two years and you're still the same jerk you've always been."

"I know, it's pretty amazing isn't it? Rory and I were just reminiscing before you interrupted." He made his voice sound as innocent as possible, which in turn made his words sound extremely suggestive.

Dean scowled and wrapped his arm around Rory, "Aren't you a little old for mind games?"

"Actually no, it's going to be my major." His cheeks ached from smiling, from pretending nonchalance and indifference. From pretending that he didn't care, that he wasn't hurt. It wasn't so much the fact that Rory was still with Dean, but rather the way she was nervously biting her lip and avoiding eye contact. It was as if their brief moment of camaraderie had not existed, or rather that she was ashamed that it had. 

Then she lifted her eyes and met his gaze. "Tristan…" Her voice was filled with something that he didn't want to interpret. Maybe a rebuke, maybe guilt, maybe disappointment, maybe…

Suddenly Tristan felt drained and tired. "It's been a real pleasure getting reacquainted with the both of you. We must do it again." He headed out of the Madden's library only to pause and turn at the door. "Bye Mary. Bye Joseph." And then with his customary smirk, he disappeared. 


	3. Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

He passed sparsely filled lanes despite the lure of heated, chlorinated water. For though, there were only ten people swimming in the indoor pool, it was ten too many. Instead, Tristan headed to where the empty, outdoor pool was situated. Although it was six am and although it was summer and the sun was out, the morning air was crisp and cool. He shivered slightly as he casually tossed his towel onto a nearby chair, noting the tiny goosebumps forming on his arm, before padding over to the water's edge.

Gazing into the water, he saw a man with perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect bone structure, perfect eyes and a perfect mouth. The perfection was false, deceptive. It did not show the imperfect boy within. He thrust his hand into the water marring the image of the too beautiful man - his own reflection - and quickly stood up, snapping his goggles into place. A few seconds later and Tristan had plunged into the pool. 

The water was colder than the morning air, but after a few warm-up laps he had adjusted to the temperature. He spent the next hour-and-a-half swimming, gathering a rhythm of legs kicking, and head turning side to side every now and then for a breath. While some people used running as a means of release and escape, Tristan preferred swimming.

Stroke after stroke he lost himself. He wasn't the child sitting in a hotel room, in France, all alone, playing with the latest, most expensive toys while his parents dined with friends on Christmas morning. Nor was he the thirteen-year-old in a dark secluded corner making out with a pretty blonde, one year his senior. Not the boy who was sent off to military school as a form of discipline and punishment. Not the just-turned-seventeen-school-kid, lying on his bed, fingering the impersonal birthday card written by his father's secretary, and desperately wishing for something. Something intangible, something more, something… And he was definitely not the almost-man whose brief encounter with Rory Gilmore, last Friday night at Rick Madden's, had him torn apart, his world jumbled and his life reassessed.

He hated that she could do such things to him. That she had this unexplainable power that wreaked such havoc and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he wanted to do about it. He hated her beauty, her cozy world of love and friendship, which he was not a part of, could not be a part of. He hated her intelligence, her kindness and compassion, and the way she smiled. Absolutely loathed the fact that her presence in his life had caused him to see things, to feel things. He hated that he could still, very possibly, love her. He hated that she was still with Dean.

Kicking his legs harder, Tristan propelled himself towards the end of the pool. He tried not to think. Empty his mind. Rid himself from thoughts of her. And just when he thought that he might have succeeded, a left turn of the head, for air, revealed a glimpse of Rory sitting on a chair, book on her lap, watching him. His body stilled momentarily and Tristan lost his rhythm, and then he sped to the nearest edge and pulled himself out of the water. Too late. She was already gone. Or perhaps she had been a figment of his imagination. Too much water in his brain. Wrapping his towel around his shoulders Tristan headed to the showers. He had lost his urge to swim. 

A shower and a steam later and Tristan entered the dining hall a new man. Choosing a table outside, with a view of the luscious lawns of the Hartford Country Club, he ordered his breakfast. It arrived on silver platters. Crispy fried bacon with a side serving of scrambled eggs, slices of tomato and two thick pieces of toast. There was half a mango - the flesh slit into perfectly sized cubes so that each cube was a delicious mouthful easily removed from the skin - adorned by three plump strawberries, sitting on a bowl of crushed ice. Another bowl filled with creamy cultured yogurt, and finally a plate of four fluffy pancakes with a dollop of melting butter on the top accompanied by a small jug of maple syrup. He had also ordered a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a cup of the club's renowned gourmet coffee.

"Hey, you eat a lot."

Tristan looked up from his food to see the figment of his imagination staring down at him. "Rory?"

"Ah ha! So you do know my name." He stared at her quizzically wondering what she was doing, standing there trying to talk to him. "I just wasn't sure if you actually knew that my name was Rory as opposed to Mary."

"I know."

"Well, good."

"Is there anything in particular you want?" He was curt. He had to be. It would be too dangerous to be friendly, too easy to be sucked in and forget himself. To let his guard down.

"Well, I just wanted to say hello."

"So now you've said hello…" He paused to stare at Rory. He wasn't sure but it looked like she was sniffing his coffee. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, it's just…do you mind if…?" Before Tristan knew what was happening, Rory had claimed his cup and was sipping his coffee, a content smile on her face. He felt an irrational sense of happiness in seeing Rory smile, and tried to suppress it. To frown or scowl. Instead, he found himself grinning back at her as she continued to talk. "My mom would love this. I think she would even endure the evils of the club for a taste of this."

"The evils of the club?"

"Oh, haven't you heard? Apparently, the Hartford Country Club is a guise for a satanic cult. Membership entails giving a pint of blood."

"Funny, I don't remember that particular requirement."

"Ah, yeah, well, as the son of Satan you're exempt."

"So basically you're saying that all the people here are actually here to worship me."

"No, your father."

"Same difference." Tristan's eyes glinted as he asked his next question. "So, are you a member, Rory?" A rosy pink crept across her face and tinged the tops of her ears. Absolutely adorable. And the pitter-patter of his heart and the crumbling of his walls were deafening sounds. He watched, as her face grew more and more flushed until eventually he took pity and changed the subject. "So, is there anything else of my breakfast you would like besides my coffee?"

"Uh, no. I really have to go…" She made a move to turn around and leave but he grabbed her hand and gently pulled her into the chair next to him.

"Try the pancakes. You'll love them. I promise." He pushed the plate towards her and waited expectantly. When she made no move for the food, Tristan cut a triangular piece of the pancake, and poured some maple syrup over the top before dangling it in front of Rory. "Take the fork and eat. Unless, of course, you want me to feed you. Which is a pleasure in itself and will add a whole new flavor to the food…"

Rory quickly grabbed the fork away from Tristan and popped the pancake into her mouth. He chuckled having suspected that his words would induce such a response from her. "It's good!"

"You sound so surprised. Like you were half expecting me to poison you or something."

"No, you just have questionable taste. Except, perhaps, when it comes to cuisine. But even then I'm not entirely ruling out the possibility of food poisoning." 

"Well, it's a slow acting poison. A month from now you won't know what's hit you. Nobody will ever be able to link it back to me."

"Yeah, well, I'll know. Since you've kindly informed me that if any misfortune or ill health were to befall me, one month from now, you'll be solely to blame."

"And yet, you still continue to eat the pancakes."

"It's not my fault. They're kind of addictive. I'm sure you've put something in these pancakes to get me hooked on their light, fluffy texture mingled with the sugary liquid goodness that is the maple syrup."

"It's all part of my evil plan. Once you're helpless, willing to do anything for another bite, then I'll have you in my clutches…"

"Are you sure they sent you to a military school and not an institution for the mentally unstable?"

Almost imperceptibly, Tristan's jaw tightened at her mention of military school. Memories and emotions flooded his mind. Not that it had been horrible there. Just lonelier. Looking into her dancing blue eyes, he felt the sudden urge to open his mouth and tell her things. To confide the secrets of his soul and reveal the many cracks within. His mouth twitched and she sat next to him, waiting. 

"Maybe they should have."

"What?"

"I wonder how you'd know if you were slowly going insane."

"I'm not sure if you ever do know," came Rory's hesitant answer.

"Maybe it's not me. Maybe it's the world going mad. Of course, what would I know? I wasn't bred to think. I was bred to be. To be the best. To be the best of the best. To carry on the DuGrey legacy. And I failed. But, North Carolina wasn't that bad a place. Scenic. Lots of empty spaces with nothing to fill the gaps. A lot like Hartford in many ways, and yet not."

"I can't really imagine any other place but here. Hartford and Stars Hollow. They're the only places I've ever really known."

"There's a lot of world out there. It's easy to get lost."

She looked at him thoughtfully as he played with the remaining food on his plate. "Are you? Are you lost?"

He shrugged trying to be nonchalant but not quite pulling it off. "Maybe. I don't know. All I know is that I refuse to become one of _them_." He gestured to the people around them, some of Hartford's elite. 

"You're not."

"Are you quite sure?" he smirked, deliberately slipping in some of his characteristic cockiness. 

She placed a hand on top of his and spoke insistently, passionately. "You're not, Tristan. You're not one of them. You're different."

"Thank you." They shared a smile. An understanding. 

As he opened his mouth to speak again, he was interrupted by an overly refined, female voice, "Why, if it isn't Tristan DuGrey. How is your grandfather? And your parents?"

"They're fine, ma'am. And how are you? You're looking lovelier than ever."

"Why, Tristan," the woman, Gloria, laughed, "You're such the charmer. Very much, like your grandfather, Janlen. And I heard you did very well in school. Congratulations." 

"Thank you, ma'am." 

"Well I must go. Send my regards to your parents and your grandfather." She gave a short wave before disappearing inside, stopping every now and then to greet someone.

Tristan turned to look at Rory, the need to divulge once again suppressed. Instead, he whispered conspiratorially, "And that was-"

"The most odious woman alive," Rory finished. 

"How did you know?" He stared at her in surprise.

"I'm in with the Hartford gossip mills. I know everything. I could tell you things about these people that would shock you."

"Somehow," he laughed but there was a bitter edge to it, "I doubt it. There's not much about these people that I wouldn't believe."

"Well, have you heard the latest about Mr. Moulton? I warn you, it's not for delicate ears."

He smirked and answered, "I think I can handle it." Nevertheless, Tristan couldn't help the widening of his eyes when Rory whispered the dirty deeds of one of Hartford's society members, and shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, you were making that up, weren't you?"

"Was not," she denied.

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was too," he contradicted, "Besides, where would you get such information? And in so much detail?" 

"Oh, didn't you know Tristan? The women's bathroom is a great source of information." She grinned wickedly as she added, "You should hear some of the things they say about you."

He gasped, pretending to find her words absolutely scandalous. "I'm amazed. I'm disgusted. I'm offended. Okay, okay, I'm intrigued. Rory, you cannot say such things and not tell me."

"My lips are sealed."

"Rory," growled Tristan.

She shook her head adamantly, "Not saying a thing."

"I swear you're going to get it, Mary." He stood up and out of his chair, towering over her with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"My name's Rory!" she shot before leaping out of her chair and running out to the safety of the lawns, Tristan in high pursuit. 

They ran through the lawns dodging people and golf carts. While Tristan's long legs should have given him an advantage, Rory was just quick enough that he was still some distance away. However, the gap was slowly narrowing; she was only a step away and he lunged forward to grab hold of her. A swift side step on Rory's part and Tristan was grasping at empty air and, a millisecond later, he was tripping over his own right foot and tumbling to the ground, face first. Rory stood over him clutching her stomach as she laughed helplessly. 

Still flat on his face he looked up, grass stains on the right of his cheek and grumbled. "It's not funny."

"O how the mighty have fallen," she quoted in between laughter. 

"I'm glad to be such a source of entertainment for you. You know you could do the proper thing and help me up."

"Sorry. Can't." Rory refused. "I'm too busy laughing here."

"Well, since you're not going to help me up it looks like I'm going to have to help you down," he stated as he grabbed hold of her legs and pulled so that she fell forward. 

She shrieked curses at him as she toppled onto his body, missing the hard ground. "I hate you."

"Now, now, is that something to say to a person who so kindly acted as a cushion to your fall?"

"Well, I wouldn't have needed a cushion if you hadn't made me fall."

"Sure, sure, whatever you say," came Tristan's infuriating reply.

"It's true!" Rory protested as she hit him lightly on the chest.

"Resorting to violence now, Mary? I'm disappointed."

She hit on the chest again, this time harder. "My name is Rory."

"Mary. Mary. Mary. Mary had a little lamb. Mary, quite contrary. Mary, Queen of Scots. Mary. Mary. Mary…" chanted Tristan.

"My." Slap. "Name." Slap. "Is." Slap. "Rory."

"Ouch," Tristan frowned, "That actually hurt. Did you have to hit me so many times?"

"Do you have to call me Mary?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, I have to hit you so many times." She chose to emphasize her point with another thump to his chest.

"You know, I'm beginning to think I'm a victim of an abusive relationship."

"Poor little boy got beat up by a girl?" she baby-talked to him.

He grinned lavishly, noting how Rory was still lying on top of him and how comfortable it was to have her so close. She seemed not to have noticed the position they were in, had been in for the last ten minutes. And while he knew his next words would make her self-conscious, he couldn't resist saying, "I'm a big boy, Rory. A very _big_ boy."

Her cheeks quickly grew flushed and her eyes wide when the innuendo sunk in. As he suspected, she suddenly became acutely aware of their compromising position and quickly rolled off him. "I-I-"

"Cat got your tongue?"

"No! I just didn't deem it worthy of a reply," she stated airily, her eyes intent on the sky above.

Still lying on the grass, Tristan rolled over to face Rory. "Su-ure. So what's so interesting about the sky?"

"I think the clouds are laughing at us."

"What?"

"The clouds. They seem to be laughing at us."

"No, just at you," he retorted. Watching her, he couldn't get over just how amazing Rory Gilmore was. If love was rose-colored glasses, finding beauty in flaws, then he was in love. Had always and would probably always be a little in love with her. If this was love. Perhaps it was just infatuation. An obsession. Maybe an addiction. Like the fact that he could never grow tired of looking at her. He was fascinated by her. Like the way her ear was curved and rounded, and yet there was a hint of a point at the top. Pixie ears. 

She continued to study the clouds as he continued to study her. They lay on the grass for several minutes until she sighed in exasperation and asked, "What? What is it?"

"What?" he mimicked.

"You were staring at me." Rory stated though her eyes had never strayed from the sky.

"How-?"

"I could feel you staring. So what's wrong? Is there something on my face? My hair? A bug? Is there a huge, crawly, icky bug on me?"

He chuckled as she progressively freaked herself out before finally shaking his head, "No. No bug. I was just…" He paused, more like hesitated, before asking a question he knew he shouldn't but couldn't help asking. "So, you and Dean?"

"Me and Dean...?"

"You've been together for like two years now?"

"A little over," she admitted.

"Wow. Two years. That's a long time."

"It only seems like a long time because you've never dated a girl for over a month. You really should try dating a girl with more substance like-"

"And before you continue down that path, can you please remember how badly that went last time."

"That's only because you were stupid enough to tell Paris that it was my suggestion."

"So, not only do I have bad taste in girlfriends but I'm also stupid? Has anyone ever told you that you're great in the whole compliment department?"

"It's my biggest asset."

A smirk crept up his face, "Well, I wouldn't know if I'd say it was your biggest asset. I'd be more inclined to say that-" She smacked him hard on the head before he could finish his sentence. "Ouch! Now that really hurt! Would you stop doing that?"

"Nope. Not until you stop with the obscene innuendoes."

"Well, for your information, Magdalene, I was going to say that your biggest asset was your brain."

"Oh, you were not!"

"I was too. It's not my fault you have a dirty mind." 

"Kids today! No respect. Just look at those two going at it on the lawn!" An indignant, elderly voice whispered loudly to her golfing partner. 

"Absolutely outrageous," the partner agreed, "Someone should report this to the committee."

"And their parents."

Both Tristan and Rory turned around to look for the scandalous pair of teenagers, only to discover that they were only youths in the vicinity. Tristan grinned as he leaned over and whispered into Rory's ear, "Looks like you're not the only one with the dirty mind, Magdalene." And as soon as the disgruntled pair of elderly ladies had disappeared, he broke down into laughter.

"It's not funny!" protested Rory, disturbed about being caught doing seemingly unmentionable things.

"Yes it is."

"What if they tell somebody? What if they tell my grandfather? I've got to find him and tell him that nothing happened."

"Nothing did happen."

"My grandmother is going to hear about this. And she'll freak. And then she'll tell mom and mom will freak. My whole life is ruined! And will you stop laughing!"

"Not until you admit it's funny," he refused. "You know you want to laugh, Rory." He poked her in the ribs making her squeal and let out a little giggle. "That's more like it. Now just a few more from where they came from…" He continued to poke and tickle her until she erupted into a chain of giggles.

"Stop that!" she demanded as she swatted his hand. "I'm laughing. There, are you happy now?" 

"Ecstatic. Now shouldn't we go find your grandfather and tell him about our non-rendezvous?"

They found Richard Gilmore in the clubhouse, where they discovered that the story had been mangled and modified to include the pool boy, the Swedish masseuse and a bunch of drug addicted, heavy metal, hormonal teenagers. It led to all three swapping the most outrageous rumors they had ever heard; Rory winning with the Mr. Moulton one, which she had divulged to Tristan earlier. The rest of the day was spent with Rory and her grandfather at the club. They golfed, they ate and they talked. It was the most real day of Tristan's life, and it felt like a dream. And when Richard Gilmore invited Tristan to spend tomorrow night out with them, at the annual Hartford carnival, he couldn't help but say yes. After all, was it too much to ask for another day with Rory Gilmore?


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: So it's taken me a while and I apologize. But, hey, I'm being good now and updating.

CHAPTER FOUR

He leaned against the trunk of a tree, hands in pocket, watching the scurrying people and nodding at random persons who recognized him as a DuGrey. It was mid-morning, around 10am or so, but considering the fact that today was Saturday, it was far too early to be awake. However, when Rory had called last night to confirm their plans she had informed him that they were to be at the carnival grounds at 6am.

"If we're going to spend the day at the carnival we have to do it right. Starting with watching the people setting up the tents and stalls."

"But 6am!" He had tried to protest.

Rory, however, was adamant. "It's a Gilmore tradition, for at least a good two years when my grandparents first took me."

"Well, I suppose I can't break tradition."

"Nope, you can't. Else you'll suffer a three generation Gilmore curse."

"Oh no! Anything but that."

"So it's agreed? We meet at my grandparents at 5:30am?"

He had caved and after hanging up the phone had promptly set his alarm for 4:50am, to give him time to get ready and drive to Richard and Emily Gilmore's house. The things he did for Rory Gilmore; the things he would do for her. 

And though he never actually told her, the waking up early hadn't been so bad. In fact, he had quite enjoyed the Gilmore tradition of watching the carnival being set up. The five of them - Rory, her mother, her grandparents and himself - sat on a nice grassy spot with a good view of the area, drinking coffee and commenting on the ongoings of others. The Gilmores were blunt, contradictory and amusing. They functioned in their own odd way. They functioned like a family.

He wondered what it would be like to have the kind of love and affection the Gilmores so obviously held for one another. What it would take to be part of their family. To be Dean.

"Hey, you look quiet and reflective. Where's the happy smile?" asked Rory, jolting Tristan out from his reverie.

"Here," he smiled, "happy smile. Better?"

"Much."

"Glad you approve," he paused, noting the absence of the older Gilmores, "So, what happened to everyone?"

"Well, mom was last seen kicking and screaming as grandma dragged her and grandpa somewhere that I do not know of."

Tristan chuckled, easily able to envision the scene after spending a good four hours with Lorelai and Emily Gilmore. "So, we're left to our own devices? I'm surprised they trusted me alone with you."

"Well, according to grandma you're a DuGrey."

"Ah ha. I see my family name has preceded me."

"Yes, and well, mom is under some foolish notion that you're a nice boy. She likes you."

"Well, she is female."

"Hmph. I blame it on her lack of coffee."

"She's had four cups today!" Tristan protested.

"My point exactly," Rory nodded, "She's only had four cups. Mom's definitely suffering the effects of too little caffeine. Her judgment cannot be trusted."

"You know, I'm all for a vanilla latte now and then"

"Vanilla latte? That's not real coffee. Coffee should be drunk straight, black, with nothing else added to it. Anything else is for show. You know what you are? You're a wannabe coffee drinker."

He somehow managed to suppress the chuckle that was desperate to come spilling out, considering the fact that Rory seemed so serious and earnest about their current topic of discussion. "So, I'm a wannabe coffee drinker. Are we actually going to go on some rides now or are we going to stand here all day and discuss coffee?"

"At the moment I'm all for standing here all day."

"You only had two cups today, didn't you? That probably explains why you're Miss. Grumpy."

"I am not grumpy."

"Sure you're not," came his patronizing reply.

"I do not like you," huffed Rory.

"You love me."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do. Because I'm going to win you the stuffed toy of your choice."

"Really?" Rory's eyes lighted up. "The stuffed toy of my choice?"

"Yup."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go." She grabbed him by the arm and proceeded to drag him towards the various gaming stalls.

In the end, the stuffed toy of Rory's choice was a huge, pink elephant, which could only be won by climbing a rope ladder and successfully reaching the top without any body parts touching the mattress below. It seemed simple enough. Easy even. Compared to some of the drills at military school this would be a piece of cake. With a confident smirk Tristan paid the attendant the money and started to climb only to find himself flipped over, ass hitting the mattress in a display of gracelessness. Two tries later and he had only managed to get up five rungs, while the little girl on his right was three rungs from the top. With a steely gaze and a look of determination, he paid the attendant for three more attempts only to prove that co-ordination and balance must not be a DuGrey forte. Fifteen attempts later and Tristan had his share of humiliation to last him a lifetime, numerous rope burns and no pink elephant. Meanwhile the little girl was clutching Bubbles, her newly acquired Power Puff doll, and watching Tristan DuGrey's downfall along with a sizable crowd.

"You're doing it wrong," the little girl offered helpfully.

Tristan scowled, "I know what I'm doing." 

The little girl had the decency to keep quiet and back away.

"Maybe you should give up?" Rory suggested.

"I know what I'm doing," he insisted. Another three more attempts, and it looked like he now had a large bruise on his left arm. His only consolation was that this time he had been two rungs away from the top.

"You're hurt," Rory commented worriedly, "I think you should forget about the pink elephant. It's not like I really need it. Or want it. We could always find another game. One that involves less chance of injury."

"I'm going to win you that pink elephant even if it kills me. This measly rope ladder will not get the better of Tristan DuGrey."

Seven attempts later, a few more rope burns and bruises, and one pink elephant proved that Tristan was indeed superior to the rope ladder. That or he was simply foolhardy and stubborn. Still the sparkle in Rory's eyes as he presented her with the prize made it all seem worthwhile.

"My hero. My champion." She deliberately gushed while clutching the toy. 

"You're overdoing it," he grumbled.

"But still, it was very brave of you to face that big, scary rope ladder fifty times for me."

"It was closer to twenty."

"Actually, it was thirty-one. I counted."

"Do you want me to take away the elephant?" he threatened.

Rory gasped. "You can't. It's a present. You can't give something to someone and then just take it back. That would be wrong. Besides he's mine. I've already named him. Tristan meet Fred. Fred meet Tristan."

Tristan squinted as he carefully scrutinized the elephant. "Are you sure it's a he? Because it looks more like a she to me."

"Fred is definitely male," came her indignant reply.

"Well, if you're sure." Inwardly he laughed as Rory, predictably, began to shoot daggers at him with her eyes. "C'mon, let's go get food. I'm in the mood for some junk."

"Oooh! Will you get hot dogs or a burger or a pizza? And will you eat them with your hands?"

"I'm thinking I will probably get a hot dog. And yes, I'll be eating it with my hands. How else am I meant to eat it?"

"I dunno," Rory shrugged, "I just never really imagined you eating that type of food. Sushi, truffles, caviar, canapés seem more like the type of food you would eat. And if you ever ate a hot dog or something like that, I always envisioned it on a silver platter with knives and forks."

"You what?" Tristan laughed. "Have I ever mentioned that you're odd?"

"I do believe it's been said before. Besides, no doubt, you eat your pasta the Italian way; twirling it with a fork and a spoon. And you probably know how to hold and use chopsticks correctly."

"Yes, but eating a hot dog with a knife and fork?"

"Knowing you it is entirely possible!" Rory defended herself. "Now, let's get food."

They spent the afternoon scoffing down popcorn, hot dogs, cotton candy, and ice cream and washing it all down with an endless supply of soda. They played enough games for Tristan to declare that today was proof that all carnival games were rigged. And the time between they rode on the merry-go-round, explored the haunted house and created havoc on the jumping castle.

"Hey, you look happy," observed Rory as they waited in line for the Ferris wheel.

"Well, maybe because I am."

"Really? And what brought on this sudden bout of happiness?"

"You. Being here with you makes me happy." It was the truth masked by light joviality.

She made a face, accepting his words as an attempt at clever humor. "Ugh. Too cheesy."

A serious, thoughtful expression crossed his face before Tristan flashed his trademark smirk, "Yeah. I probably could have done better."

"Much better."

"So," he attempted to sound casual, "I'm surprised Dean isn't here."

"He was busy," came Rory's curt reply.

"Oh well, he missed out on a good day. Like you making a fool of yourself on the jumping castle. Or you and the evil cotton candy."

"The cotton candy was evil. There was something wrong with its coloring."

"It looked perfectly fine to me."

"Ha! It just goes to show how little you know. Besides, it's not like you can speak, Mr. I Must Defeat The Rope Ladder."

"Hey, I got you Fred!" Tristan exclaimed indignantly.

"After fifty attempts."

"Thirty-one. You told me you counted thirty-one."

"Same difference. Oohh, look the line is moving. Progress is finally being made. This is going to be the best ride of them all. The cherry on top of the ice cream. I can't wait. I love Ferris Wheels."

He smiled, watching Rory bounce up and down in anticipation. "You know I wasn't exactly kidding before. I've had a lot of fun today. With you." 

"Me too," she whispered back, her eyes briefly meeting his before she quickly averted them.

An awkward silence fell upon them as they pretended to be absorbed with the progression of the queue rather than each other.

"This is the second time I've been to the annual Hartford carnival," Tristan suddenly confessed, breaking the silence. "The first time was when I was six. It was this great family event; something out of the _Brady Bunch_; happy families. We entered the carnival, my mom and dad hand in hand. And I, I was sitting on top of my dad's shoulders. He won stuffed toys for my mom and I, and rode on the merry-go-round with me about ten times. That day he wasn't too busy to play father. As for my mom, it was the one time in my life that she didn't care whether or not I dripped ice cream. Whether or not each strand of my hair was perfectly in place, and I could be messy as I liked. I could be a kid. It was the best day of my childhood. The next year I waited eagerly for the carnival. Only that year my dad had to go to Europe and mom felt that there was too much sun to go outside. Similar excuses followed the year after and the year after that. I never did end up going to the carnival again. So this is my second time here."

"Tristan"

"You know, considering its track record, I'm going to have to say that this carnival is the one annual Hartford event that equates to actual fun."

"Tristan" Rory began once more.

"Yes?" He turned to face her; blue eyes asking not for pity but for friendship and understanding.

"It's our turn. On the Ferris Wheel." 

They boarded the Ferris Wheel in comfortable quiet; her hand holding his. As their seat rose higher and higher up into the air they watched their view of the world change. People grew smaller, less real, and then there was the vastness of blue sky and everything else below. The Ferris Wheel stopped and they were at the top looking down; the world illuminated by the dulling afternoon sun. Her hand was still entwined with his and for Tristan it was indescribable.

"Everything is so beautiful," Rory marveled.

"It is." He turned his head left as she turned her head right, and their eyes locked.

Then her head inched closer before she pressed her mouth against his. Her lips were soft and the kiss was the perfect medium between dry and wet. He sat dumbly unable to process the fact that he was kissing Rory or rather that she was kissing him. A few strands of her hair fell to the front of her face and he found himself somehow brushing them aside. And then his reflexes kicked in and he returned her kiss. Their mouths were joined and they were breathing each other's air, invading personal space with Fred squished in between them. The Ferris Wheel jolted back into action bringing them to their descent but they did not notice the world passing them by. Lips brushing lips, a little tongue, and hands tangled in hair. Soft but noisy smooches. Bliss. And then the end of the ride.

She pulled away, fumbling with the metal bar, avoiding his gaze.

"Rory?"

"I-I have to go." She stumbled out of her seat and ran, clutching Fred too tightly.

"Rory?" he yelled after her and attempted to chase. He was fast and athletic but Rory was determined and she slipped away, disappearing into the crowd of people.

Ten minutes later he bumped into Lorelai Gilmore.

"Tristan, hey. Rory's not feeling well and we've all decided to leave early. We hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all." There wasn't much else he could say.

"It was nice meeting you." Lorelai offered her hand.

He took it and shook her hand firmly. "Same here. I hope Rory is feeling better soon."

"So do I." The look she gave him was knowing, and Tristan wondered if Rory had confessed or if he had betrayed something in the tone of his voice. She let go of his hand, giving him one last meaningful glance before leaving. 

Afterwards he walked aimlessly throughout the carnival grounds waiting for evening, when the crowds dispersed and there were only the cleaners picking up the rubbish as everything closed for the day. He sat on the same grassy spot they had sat on 6am that morning. There was something terribly final and empty in watching the tents go down and the stalls close. It seemed fitting. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

He hit the keys of the perfectly tuned piano in succession; it sounded off key. He had come to another of Madeline's parties to escape the loudness of his thoughts, drown them with the din of the party. It hadn't worked. The world around him was speaking in whispers and saying the same thing, in an echo to the voices in his head. He was going insane.

Cracking his knuckles, Tristan stared down at his hands and the white and black keys of the piano before playing in earnest. He played well, technically perfect, because that was how he was trained. However his instructors had always said he lacked the creativity, the passion, to make him great. What they had never understood was that playing the piano was only another thing to add to Tristan's (and his parents') list of accomplishments. 

Rory had come to Madeline's party. After two weeks of supposedly being sick, she was now here. From the corner of the room where he had been brooding, Tristan had looked up to see Madeline and Louise greet the slender brunette. Before she could get a chance to spot him, Tristan had spun on his heels and headed slowly but deliberately to Madeline's piano room. The room of his shame.

He finished the piece he was playing and started a new one; music from his memories. Everything was off-kilter: the music, this room, this party, this world, his life. He was going insane. He was losing control. Tristan had headed to the piano room because he didn't trust himself, not when it came to Rory. There was no telling what he might do. The old Tristan he had thought he had long since buried at military school was suddenly re-emerging; blending with the new Tristan until he couldn't tell the difference between the two. He could see himself doing a stupid thing like going up to her and making a scene, and embarrassing himself. It was the last thing he needed. She was the last thing he needed. The voices in his head disagreed, so he banged a little harder on the keys of the piano.

"I, uh, didn't know you could play." His fingers faltered at the sound of her voice but he didn't look up, desperately trying to pretend she wasn't really there. "I noticed you weren't around even though Paris said you were here. And I looked for you but I couldn't find you and then I suddenly thought of this room. And I was right. You were here."

He looked up now and stared at her, his eyes burning with many things unspoken. "How are you feeling, Rory?"

"H-how am I feeling?" She seemed a little off-put by the question, not expecting it.

"Yes, how are you feeling? I heard from your mom that you've been sick." If he was a little snide, Tristan felt he was fully justified.

"Oh. I'm fine. Tristan-"

"Good, because I wouldn't have wanted it to be anything serious. What do you want?"

"W-what do I want?"

"Are you planning on repeating every single thing I say? Do you honestly need clarification on the questions I'm asking? They're pretty simple, not hard at all."

"Why are you being like this?" came Rory's angry, hurt response.

"Being like what? Being myself? Is there some other way I'm supposed to be? Some sort of scripted behavior you've imagined for me? Am I not acting the way you expected? Why don't you tell me how I'm supposed to act and I'll see what I can do?"

"Don't…don't be like this. It's not you," Rory paused before adding, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He didn't want to hear what she was going to say and yet, at the same time, he needed to hear it.

"For the kiss. Well, not really the kiss, but the way I ran out afterwards. I owe you an explanation."

He waved his hand, waved her off. He could pretend it didn't matter, feign indifference. "No explanations needed. I think everything you've said and done is explanation enough. Elaboration is not necessary. I'm not stupid, y'know."

"I know you're not stupid," her voice started off soft before gaining strength and momentum. "But I think I have the right to explain. To make you understand because you don't. You've just warped and misinterpreted everything and it's not fair. Because I never meant…I mean it wasn't like…You see, the thing is-"

"Well, thanks for clearing everything up for me. Are we finished now, because I'd like to be alone?"  


"No. No. We are not finished."

"Okay, but I think we are." He played on the piano some chords of death, and had the satisfaction of seeing her physically recoil as if he had a struck a blow.

"You don't even want to listen do you? You've made up your mind and you don't even want to hear the truth."

"The truth being?"

"I like you." Her words hung in the air, honest and sincere; he tried not to be affected. And then she spoke again, "I like you but-"

"But there's a Dean." His smile was scornful, at himself and at her.

"No. No. No. This isn't about Dean."

"Really? Because I get the strangest feeling that-"

"Will you just shut up and listen?"

"Fine." He crossed his arms and waited expectantly.

Rory stared at him, chewing her lip and not saying a word. As each second ticked by, he became increasingly confident in the belief that she had nothing to say, and his eyes grew colder. Finally she opened her mouth to speak but then closed it without any words spilling out.

"I'm still waiting," he prompted.

"I- I can't quite explain it," she said helplessly, "I never meant to kiss you. It wasn't intentional or planned. It just happened."

He clapped his hands, loud and deliberate. "Well done, Rory. I'm impressed. I can honestly say that your explanation was beyond my wildest expectations. In fact, it was so good I think you should say it word-for-word to Dean. Oh wait, let me guess, you're not planning on telling him."

"Actually, he already knows."

"Oh. How did he…never mind."

She anticipated his question anyway and answered, "He broke up with me." 

"Oh." It was all that Tristan could manage.

"It was wrong for me to kiss you, to run away like I did, to not call or anything like that. And I just wanted to apologize, because you deserve to be treated better than that. So, I'm sorry." 

He took in her words, one by one, dissecting them, examining them, turning them over and over in his head as he tried to comprehend. He looked for hints of deception but only found sincerity. And the beginnings of shame emerged because he had been treating her badly. The truth was Tristan hadn't really been angry at Rory but more at himself and his own insecurity. She made him doubt himself, reminded him of failure. He could accuse her of leading him on but that wasn't exactly true either. There were no dichotomies; no black and white but only shades upon shades. The kiss on the Ferris wheel was unexplainable and while wrong on so many levels had also been right. And suddenly, he realized it didn't matter that Rory had initiated the kiss and then run away.

Meanwhile as Tristan deciphered her words and came to an understanding, Rory was waiting for a flicker of acceptance or at very least acknowledgment on his behalf. Upon receiving none, she sighed and then turned to leave.

Her movement seemed to jolt him out of his reverie, and he stood up and called out, "Wait!" Quizzically, she turned to face him. "It's okay. I mean, it's not really your fault. Yes, you initiated the kiss but if you hadn't I would've. Plus I kissed you back. So, in that regard, we're both to blame." Tristan paused as if he had run out of things to say. Then he took a few steps forward, narrowing the gap between them, and suddenly started again as if he had gained a second wind. "I accept your apology. And I'm sorry, about you and Dean. He's an idiot. He shouldn't have let it become the end of you two. Not that I want the two of you back together, because you can do better, but the kiss was an impulse thing brought on by the moment. He should realize how lucky he is, was, to have you."

"Thank you." Her smile was small and soft; it warmed some part of him, as all her smiles did.

"Hey, you got into Harvard, right? At least I heard from Paris that you'll be joining our ranks."

"Our? You never mentioned that you got into Harvard."

"It never came up. Besides, I thought you were all knowing when it came to Hartford gossip."

"Delusional boy. As if you are worthy of being the object of gossip." Her twinkling eyes belied her words.

"That's not what you said the day at the country club," he reminded her.

"Do you remember everything?"

"No, not everything. Just the important things. Like this piano room." He said the words carefully and let the significance sink in.

"Tristan-"

"I'd just like to kiss you once without you running away."

"I just broke up with Dean." Her eyes told him that she wasn't ready for another commitment, another boyfriend.

"I know." He made his eyes tell her that he wasn't asking for anything but a kiss; didn't want or expect anything more. And by some silent agreement he inched closer, leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. They kissed and parted; it was fleeting and brief. Mutual smiles were exchanged before they stepped back, widening the personal space between them.

"It was a nice kiss," she said. 

"It was. Made nicer by the fact there were no tears and no running." He paused, still smiling, before inquiring, "So, any particular plans on how you're going to spend the rest of the summer?"

"My mom and I always talked about going to Europe, the summer after graduation. But we can't this year. However we are going to be taking a small road trip in a few days' time. Besides that, it'll be mainly spending time with my best friend Lane in Stars Hollow and then preparing for the whole college thing. You?"

"I'm pretty much staying in Hartford, although my family will probably be Vineyard bound for a few weeks."

"So, maybe when I get back from my road trip and if you're not at Martha's Vineyard we could meet up or something?"

"Sure."

"And we can get together and talk Harvard. I know Paris is dying to make plans, so we can be prepared when school starts."

Tristan chuckled, "That sounds like Paris."

"So, I guess I'll be seeing you then?"

"That you will."

Rory smiled then backed away before pausing to add, "Tristan, I'm glad-"

He returned her smile, "Me too." And then watched her leave the room.

As he turned his gaze back on the room and the piano before him, Tristan was surprised at how ordinary everything looked. Nothing had changed and yet… 

He felt the urge to leave the party; to drive out into the night with the stars twinkling above him, the night air fresh and cooling against his face and the radio playing in the background. Or to take a walk down his street and stare at the world he lived in with new eyes. Or to go to Chilton, to revisit his childhood as an eighteen year old just starting to become comfortable in his own skin, and with the friendship of Rory Gilmore and the memory of a nice kiss.

Tristan left the piano room and the party, saying his goodbyes to Madeline, Louise, Paris and other friends. His eyes caught Rory's just before he exited and he gave a quick wave of the hand before heading to his car. There were things to do.

The End

Author's Note: I'm assuming that this might not be the type of end that people might have hoped for or wanted, but somehow it seemed appropriate. And since the two wenches, whom I loathe, agreed, it is therefore staying this way. A huge thank you goes out to Liza who came to my aid when I cried, and helped me overcome a stumbling block in regards to this part. And thanks to everyone who read. 


End file.
